Starry Night
by souffles-and-bowties
Summary: "I wonder if you've gone on with your life already. I wonder if the madman in the blue box is just a small part of your subconscious now. Maybe you believe it was just a dream." Ten/Rose angst.


**AN: I know I usually post whouffle stuff, but I ship ten/rose really hard too (who doesn't?) and I decided to write this fanfic, so...here you go!**

He had named the star.

That one star, the brightest star in the sky.

He hadn't meant to, that was for sure. He would rather not tear his hearts apart even more than they were already. But on that night, when everything was pitch-black, when the birds had stopped chirping, when the lights had all gone out, he had stepped out of his old box and stared up at the dark nothingness of the world above him. And slowly, oh-so-very slowly, a small shimmer of light formed, a light peeking out from its curtain of silence, a light that reached out towards the Doctor's hand.

"Why, hello," he murmured, settling down on the cool, wet grass. "A rebellious one, then?"

The star blinked at him in reply.

"Can't sleep? I understand. I can't either. That's why I'm here."

An owl let out a small hoot somewhere in the distance, and the star twinkled.

"You want me to tell you a story?" the Doctor's eyebrows drew together. "But I'm sure you've seen plenty more things than I have."

For a long minute, the star threatened to fade out of sight, its corners drawing in, its light blinking rapidly. Like a torch running out of power.

"Oh, alright. I suppose, if the animals want to hear, they can gather 'round. Like Snow White and the Seven Time Lords."

And he began his story.

"Once upon a time there was an old, tired man...this man's name was John Smith. He was different from the others-he was an outcast, a person tourists tended to avoid..."

And, as time went on, day after day, the Doctor realized who this simple, yet magnificent, star reminded him of.

A lost companion.

So soon enough, "Rose" became the star's official name. It seemed to like it, that star. It seemed to always shine brighter when she heard the word.

And every time the Doctor's hearts grew heavy with sorrow, he would stare back at the star and pretend it was Rose Tyler. His dear, beloved, wonderful Rose Tyler.

* * *

_Dear Doctor,_

_I know you won't be receiving this anytime soon. In fact, I know you'll never receive this. But I've been lonely the past few days and I needed someone to talk to._

_I can't sleep, actually. Every night, I think of you, and my heart breaks so much that I can't bring myself to close my eyes. I wish you were here. You could tell me stories of your life and we'd listen to music together. And I'd be happy._

_Rose Tyler_

* * *

_Dear Doctor,_

_Something strange happened last night._

_I heard your voice, you were talking to me. And it was so clear._

_I could almost see you. It was like I was looking over you. You stepped out of your box and sat down and looked me straight in the eye, and said, "Hello, Rose." And I said, "Hello, Doctor." And then you beamed at me so happily, yet in such a sad manner, that I couldn't help but cry. And you would reach out and comfort me, and tell me a small tale, and I'd settle down and listen, until the dawnings of day reached my mind._

_And then you faded away, very, very slowly, and when I called for you, you had gone._

_Mum says it's just a work of my imagination. She says it's happening to me because I miss you so much._

_Maybe she's right._

_I suppose we'll just have to wait and see._

_Rose Tyler_

* * *

"I wonder if you think of me."

The Doctor eyed the star sadly. "I wonder if you've gone on with your life already. I wonder if the madman in the blue box is just a small part of your subconscious now. Maybe you believe it was just a dream."

The star said nothing.

"You know, Rose," he continued. "I miss you. I miss you so, so much. I've lost something I can't replace. Something I'll never be able to replace...

"Did you know, the TARDIS still has your bedroom? I cleaned it yesterday. I just had to. I found your jacket. I keep it in my room, now. I know it sounds weird, but every morning, I hug it as tight as I can."

The Doctor pushed the button carefully, and the metal door swung open.

He took a long, deep breath, braced himself, and marched in.

The pink, which he once despised, was now a welcome sight. The brightness of it all.

There was a picture on the bedstand, a picture of a smiling Rose Tyler with her arm slung across the Doctor's shoulders. Queen Victoria was glaring at them suspiciously a few feet away.

"_Witchcraft_," her expression seemed to be saying. But Rose was laughing, and so was the Doctor, and that seemed to make everything okay.

The Doctor reached over and caressed the photo, bringing it up, and pulling it towards his chest. When he pushed it away, the picture had changed. It was only Rose, now, with her perky smile and her twinkling eyes. A digital frame. He tucked it into his pocket. He was going to keep it forever.

He made his way through the pillows strewn on the ground, and caught sight of a familiar item. A blue jacket. Dropping to his knees, the Doctor snatched the jacket up, his eyes brimming was sudden, unshed tears. It still smelled of Rose's cheap perfume.

He squeezed the jacket tight, burying his face into it so that his scent mingled with hers, like they were supposed to. He wished, wished so hard, that someone would fill the empty space between his arms.

Between his hearts.

Eventually, of course, he stopped talking to the star. He had never been wonderful with commitment, and a few years later, he had stopped his nightly visits. But he never forgot Rose. If he had knew how far his messages had gone, he would've stayed, would've been overjoyed.

And every night, the star would sit waiting, waiting for the madman who told the most wonderful stories, but not once again did he come. And Rose Tyler soon had to accept the fact her conversations with her Doctor _were_ merely a work of her imagination. She had been happy though, for those few years.

_Five Hundred Years Later._

The Doctor stepped out of his TARDIS and plopped down on the grass, straightening his bow tie as he peered at the sky.

"Rose!" he called. "Where are you, Rose?"

A long minute passed.

"I know I've been a while. And I'm sorry for that. It's not that I've forgotten about you. I've never forgotten about anyone, but I've just been so busy."

And slowly, oh-so-very slowly, a small shimmer of light formed, a light peeking out from its curtain of silence, a light that reached out towards the Doctor's hand.

The Doctor' face split into a grin. "Hello, Rose."

_Hello, Doctor._

And there they sat, hour after hour, trading stories about the last five hundred years. And it was only when the Doctor was about to leave, did a hand suddenly slip into his. He glanced over, but the air around him was empty.

But he smiled, gripping the hand tightly, and a gentle, familiar voice echoed in his head.

_I miss you too._


End file.
